


To the Moon and Back

by Taupefox59



Category: Being Human (UK), The Almighty Johnsons
Genre: Aphrodisiacs, Bad Poetry, Bragi-standard Dub-con, Child Neglect, Fairy Tale Elements, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Rape/Non-con Elements, References to Norse Religion & Lore, Song fic, quest!fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-08
Updated: 2016-06-25
Packaged: 2018-07-13 20:36:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7136174
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Taupefox59/pseuds/Taupefox59
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After accidentally ending up in a poetry reading, Anders catches the attention of his old Patron Bragi, who offers him a chance at what Anders truly wants:</p><p>Life.</p><p>For him, and for his vampire lover, Mitchell.</p><p>Suddenly, Anders is in Asgard with two weeks to get golden apples from the garden of the gods.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. To the Moon and Back

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SarcasticSmiler](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SarcasticSmiler/gifts).



> Raffle prize for Sarcastic Smiler.
> 
> Un-beta'd, so if you catch anything, please let me know! Con/crit always welcome!

Anders had a shitty life.

 

His shitty fucking god was gone.

 

His first real fucking girlfriend had been shot in front of his face by a brainwashed cult member.

 

His first real boyfriend was a vampire with the weirdest fucking hang-ups over  _ everything. _

Not the least of them being a complete and utter refusal to even think about turning Anders. Which was perfectly fucking kind of him, really, when it was the first time in his entire life that Anders hadn’t had to be afraid of  _ losing _ the person he was with. It was the entire reason he’d gotten with Mitchell in the first place.  

He’d learned that the strange Irish man he’d just met was walking undead, and there had been something twinge through him. Aftershocks of Helen’s blood on his floor. Echoes of every time Johan would walk out the door. The cracks that only got wider when he learned that no matter how hard he tried or what he did, Elizabet would still rather be a fucking tree.

Mitchell was different from everything, in every fucking way. Anders could ignore all of them though,because the one that mattered most was that out of everything, Mitchell desperately wanted to  _ stay _ . 

Mitchell wanted to make a home. He wanted to have neighbours and a white picket fence and a dog. Anders thought he was a fucking idiot, but Mitchell had latched on to the idea of a high-end fishtank, so  they’d made it work. 

It wasn’t that they didn’t have snags- of course they did, but most of them were small enough to ignore. (Or simply have Anders hire a cleaner to come to their house once a week.) The true trouble started after they’d been together for nearly a year and a half. It had been Anders’ birthday and that was when it had first struck Anders

He was getting older. Mitchell wasn’t.

Anders, who feared maybe one thing more than being left alone. Because what was death, if not being alone forever. The ultimate end. Nothingness. An eternity of un-existance. 

But Mitchell wouldn’t turn him. Ended the conversation almost before it had even started, every time. No discussion, no space for Anders to bargain. Just hard eyes seeing shadows and a gruff response of “Never. Not ever, Anders. Don’t ask again.”

 

Which is why Anders was out at a shitty bar, drinking shitty vodka. In an effort not to be found by his family (not that they’d be looking. Or surprised, for that matter, to find him in a bar) he’d gone to some hipster place where they served over-priced pizza on flat wooden boards, had a million bullshit craft brews on tap, and the aforementioned terrible vodka.

It also turned out to be a poetry hotspot, so Anders was also forced to sit through shitty,  _ shitty _ poetry. There was a theme for the night - something inspired by a gritty survival film that had recently won a bunch of awards or something. ‘Snow doesn’t melt on a dead man.’

Half of the ‘poetry’ was pseudo-haiku, and the rest was pretending to know what Beat was. Anders shuddered. He didn’t have Bragi anymore, but some things stuck around. He  _ knew _ poetry. The words he was hearing were anything  _ but _ poetry.

It took a while for him to get drunk enough - or maybe the last poet was just bad enough, that he stood and walked to the mic. 

He felt possessed, unreal. Like it wasn’t his body getting into the lit corner of the room. His hands were not the ones taking the mic from the stand to bring it closer to his mouth. HIs mind was entirely on Mitchell. His dead man. It didn’t snow in Auckland. He wondered if it mattered. If Mitchell was just too far away anyway. If nothing that Anders ever tried would ever be good enough to get what he wanted.

Maybe he’d just never understood. He was too broken even to make it work with a fucking vampire. He didn’t feel it when his mouth opened. He didn’t feel the words spilling out of his mouth. 

_ “Falling snow doesn’t melt on a dead man _

_ so stick your tongue out and pretend you can taste it _

_ when all it tastes is cold, praying to anything that it’s enough.  _

_ The cold shock is enough.  _

_ If you can’t feel it melt, does it even make a difference? _

 

_ A dead man makes a mark in the forest. _

 

_ In the cold, when you walk on, even your footsteps get covered. _

_ Longing for cold, as if nothing would hurt if the snow didn’t melt. _

 

_ Walk on and on and on through endless snow, _

_ same and same and same, _

_ desperate for feeling over the horizon. _

 

_ If you can’t feel the snow melt, does it even make a difference?” _

 

Anders stared out at the crowd who were staring at him. That hadn’t been poetry either. It had, however, been far too close to the truth and Anders knew he needed to leave. He had to get out of the stupid, shitty bar, and away from whatever stupid feeling had made him think it would be a good idea to take place in amateur night poetry bullshit. He barely managed to get the mic back in the stand before he ran from the corner. He threw some bills on the counter, hoping it covered his drinks. He had to get out.

He made it as far as the street corner when his fingers started to tingle. It was as though his entire body was slowly getting infused with carbonation, rushing through his veins and lighting him up. At the same time, he felt syrupy slow, as if his muscles had been replaced with jelly. It was only then that he noticed the golden glow that was starting to blot out the world.

“That was interesting.” It was a voice Anders would know anywhere.

“Bragi.”

“So you’ve finally found something to say.”

“I had plenty of fucking shit to say! You just never cared to hear-”

“Don’t lie to me.”

Anders went silent.

“You fear death.”

“Doesn’t everyone?”

“Your lover does as well.” There was a long pause before the voice continued, “the vampire fears death perhaps even more than you.”

“Well he seems content to be afraid and alone.” Anders spat out bitterly.

Silence stretched, fluid and forever, solid and stone and unbreakable, swirling around Anders, who could do nothing at all in the presence of his patron god.

“I shall grant you a boon, Anders Johnson.”

Anders stared. “What?”

“I grant you two apples from Iðunn’s garden.”

Anders narrowed his eyes. “What’s the catch.”

“There is no catch. You must simply go to the garden and get the apples.”

“It would be easier to get to the moon and back.” Anders said.

“And yet I think you will succeed.” Bragi said, and a sudden whirlwind kicked up. It was spinning yet never moving. G force and a rolling boil and being thrown in a tumble dryer; being caught in an undertow, and being pushed from a moving car. 

Then the ground that Anders was standing on was very much not Auckland anymore, and the physical presence of Bragi stood before him.

“For as long as you are here, everything you have will stay as it is now. I have brought you to Asgard. I can do no more. You have a fortnight to get to the garden and convince Iðunn to allow you to have the apples.”

“No, but I-”

It didn’t matter. Bragi was gone.


	2. Momma never loved that much, Daddy never keeps in touch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anders faces his first task

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Un-beta'd, so if you catch anything, please let me know! Con/crit always welcome!

Anders stared at the place where Bragi used to be and swore vociferously. Then he kicked at the ground and swore some more. Then, he kicked at some nearby trees and continued to swear. Eventually though, the swearing turned to speaking and the speaking turned to grumbles, and the grumbles eventually became something along the lines of “Fine. I’ve already been on one stupid fucking quest to find a stupid fucking tree that doesn’t exist in the middle of nowhere! I’ve always wanted to go on another one!”

So Anders started walking. Every step he took became more silent, as if the very sound of his footsteps was being eaten by the earth he was walking on. He started to talk again, more than swearing this time, about anything, but the words sounded muffled, as if the air itself refused to carry them forward.

There was a prickling itch against Anders’ skin as he kept walking like the air was heavy, there was some force in it, some kind of not-fog, caressing his skin as he walked through it, making him jumpy and sending chills down his spine.  “Yuputka.” he murmured to himself, the Ulwa word for phantom feelings in the forest at night. He didn’t know how he knew it, or how it slid out of his mouth, He barely noticed that it had. Then he took another soundless step and the word was gone. Just like everything else.

Because nothing was there. He was alone, as he always was.

Always alone.

 

The feeling started to creep in, as if it were sinking through his pores. Every step in the hollow ground. He kept walking in the direction he’d chosen out of fear that if he’d turn around, no trace at all would be left. He was passing through the world, with no one, with nothing. He was nothing, not even enough to bend the stalks of grass that he was walking. He didn’t touch the trees in fear that his hands would go through them. 

The paranoia slid along his spine and settled there. 

He was on his own.

Just as he always had been.

 

He’d never been a favourite of his parents, too quick to stand up to Johan; too fast to talk back, cross lines his tongue was ready for but the rest of him wasn’t. It had hardly been better with Elizabet. He’d never been enough for his mother, no matter how hard he’d tried. When he’d been young, and he’d seen the way she loved Ty, and he’d tried to do the same. He’d seen the callous way that she would ignore Mike, so Anders had tried to do that too. 

Nothing had worked. Everything had gone wrong, leaving him alone, always alone. Even when Elizabet had come back, all she’d seen from him was a tool. She needed something, and he had still been so desperate for any shred of her approval that he’d done it. Even though it was impossible.

Impossible didn’t matter to his parents. It wasn’t enough. There was nothing he could do. Nothing he could  _ be _ that could ever be enough.

The feeling kept growing, inflating under his skin until there was  no room left for  _ him _ , no room for blood or muscle, just a fizzing vibration, buzzing, buzzing, every feeling of inadequacy he’d ever had somehow bubbling up to the surface to fill him up.

He’d never been enough for Mikkel, never made it onto the right sports teams, never felt at home in work boots. Mike believed in being tough enough to stand through punishment. Anders had never understood. Why would he stand and get hit when he could talk his way out of it? But somehow that always made him  _ less _ to Mike. Every time Anders got mouthy and then talked his way back out of trouble, and Mike would give his this look, like maybe he wasn’t enough of a man to be a proper Johnson.

Anders shivered at the thought. He knew that if they could, his family would happily forget about him. His plans for Axl- that was laughable. Anders had wound up fucking his little brother’s fiancée.

The buzzing was growing, his skin was itching against his skin, like it was suddenly made of sandpaper. Anders didn’t notice he was shaking as he stumbled forward, always doggedly forward. After all, wasn’t that what he did best?

Even Ty, who he could have helped, he’d instead continually chipped away at. Ty was the closest thing to a friend that he had in his family, but when Ty had wound up nearly dead in a relationship with Eva, and maybe there was nothing he could have done, but he could have fucking  _ tried _ . Ty didn’t trust him either though. Not with anything important. Too many times, too many lies, too many lines. Too many nights ruined by Anders and his pride.

His need to make a mark, to change things.

All he ever wanted was to make some kind of scratch on the world. The smallest change, to prove that he’d been there.

In his desperation, he’d cut down at every thing that could have ever helped him grow into what he wanted to be. He was alone because he’d put himself there, time and time again. He hadn’t listened, he hadn’t tried hard enough, he hadn’t stood strong in the face of whatever it was that Johnsons were apparently meant to.

His legs were starting to feel weak, he wasn’t sure how long he could keep walking. He didn’t notice that he’d been undoing the buttons of his shirt. His fingers clumsy, his hands shaking, he just, he needed to get it off, needed it away. Everything was pushing in, the air, it was thick and oppressive and growing harder to breathe, like gasping for air in a sauna when too much water get poured on the rocks. There was weight to it, hot and cold, clinging and cloying and he couldn’t breathe, and his blood was fizzing, it was champagne turned to vinegar that was burning through him, stinging, endless energy, his skin couldn’t hold it. He finally managed to get all of the buttons undone and shook the shirt off.

He left it where it fell as he kept walking forward.

He had to keep walking forward.

Every step brought faded images. Everything was faded. He made no sound, he was nothing. He never had been enough, never could be enough.

Even now, he wasn’t enough for Mitchell, and that was the thought that perhaps stung the most.

Despite it all, Anders walked on. He knew how these things worked. He’d done it before, because it didn’t matter if his mother had sent him on an impossible quest. He’d managed to do what no one else could, and he’d fucking come back with a piece of the goddamned  _ world tree _ , and if that still wasn’t good enough for her, than he didn’t need her anyway.

It hadn’t been something Mike could have found for her either, with all of his preaching and pretensions of moral high ground. Mike was no better than the rest of them, spending years committing to things that only looked like relationships, because he was too blind to himself to see otherwise. Mike was too caught up in ‘doing the right thing’ to ever check where his right things were leading him. 

Johan had long since given himself over to his god, forgoing even the slightest attempts at human decency. Anders wouldn’t call himself particularly decent, but if anything, he did call himself  _ human _ . He liked sex and drugs and nice clothes. He liked meeting famous people, and pushing pieces into place. He was still a mouthy bastard, and he still liked to talk his way out of things. Bragi had helped, but hadn't really changed anything.

Johan had let his god turn him into an abusive bastard.

The fizzing in Anders skin got worse, and he started to scratch. Johan had been an abusive fuckwad, but he hadn’t always been much better himself. Instead of disappearing, he’d simply push until what he wanted appeared. Maybe it didn't’ matter if Johan hadn’t been around much. Maybe Anders had a few too many of his father’s habits than anyone wanted to admit.

He wasn’t sure how much longer his legs could support him. He was starting to trip on the ground, even though it was fairly flat. He didn’t notice the reddened patches on his arms from his scratching. 

What he did notice was the sight of smoke through the trees. He had no idea how far away it was, but he’d gotten himself this far, and he was going to get himself there as well.

He wasn’t always the best person. He had his flaws, as did everyone, but what he’d built for himself wasn’t nothing, and it  _ was _ worth fighting for.

The itching in his skin was starting to abate, and Anders started to shiver not from the oily humidity of the air, but instead from the cold. He could only vaguely remember losing his shirt at some point in the forest. His blood seemed to be cooling with the air, settling back, away from his skin, back into his muscles, back into his veins where it belonged.

Anders set his jaw and marched towards the smoke. He didn’t need anyone else with him. He’d done this before by himself, only that had been for his mother. This time, he knew what he was doing, and he was doing it for himself. 

 

It seemed to take no time at all to reach the door of the house with the smoking chimney. Anders didn’t even come up to the doorknob. It didn’t matter. He took a deep breath and pounded on the door.

Footsteps like thunder sounded, and the door opened,  revealing a giant blond man with the bluest eyes Anders had ever seen.

“I see you have made it through the Forest of Loneliness.” the giant said. “That grants anyone entrance to my house.” He gave Anders a look. “Even one as impudent as you.”

Anders stared at him, but followed nonetheless when he was motioned inside.

  
He officially had no idea what was going on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "yuputka" came from here: http://mentalfloss.com/article/50698/38-wonderful-foreign-words-we-could-use-english


	3. Shies Away from Human Affection

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anders learns something about past habits.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THIS GOT DARK.
> 
> There's a lot of dub/con non/con in this chapter. It's about putting Anders on the other side of using his powers to coerce people into sex. There is also use of aphrodisiacs without consent.
> 
> Un-beta'd, so if you catch anything please let me know. Constructive criticism always welcome.

Anders was moved into the house with a hand on his back that had the force of a speeding cement truck. Anders was struck by the warmth of it, and only then did he fully comprehend that for some unknown, godforsaken reason, he’d started stripping off in the forest. 

Part of his mind pulled up that one of the signs of hypothermia was feeling overheated, but he shivered at the very thought of the forest. Whatever that had been, it hadn’t been hypothermia. He shuddered again, uncontrollable, starting in the base of his spine and shaking out until his chest was tight with it.

He couldn’t breathe. The forest - it hadn’t been cold, it had been something else, something  _ awful _ , and he didn’t, he couldn’t….the shivery feeling was back under his skin, his mind was spinning. He just wanted, he needed to find out where he was, he needed to get a map, get to the fucking apples and  _ leave this fucking place forever _ . He just needed a map.

Just needed a map. The world was spinning, everything was shaking. The map… but everything went dark. 

  
  


When Anders woke up, he was naked and in a bed that might as well have been about half the size of a football field. The door creaked open, and the same giant from before entered the room slowly - and probably about as softly as it was possible for a creature of that size. 

“I see you’re awake then.” He said, in a booming voice, that Anders could tell was meant to be a whisper. “Gave us a bit of a scare. Not everyone makes it through the Forest alright. Some people don’t make it out at all. Got to have strength in yourself to get through that one, you do.”

Anders simply stared.

“Anyway, you’ll be needing to drink this, now, drink it all mind, if you want to get through it, I would say.”

Anders swallowed, finally finding his voice. “Get through what?”

“You want the map to the Iðunn's grove, don’t you?”

“ _ Yes _ .” Anders said, sitting up quickly.

“You like sex.” The giant said.

Anders frowned at the sudden subject change. “Yes?”

“Good then.” The giant placed a flask on the table that was about the length of Anders’ arm. “Drink as much as you can then. It’ll help get you through.”

“Get me through-” But the giant had already left. Anders frowned at the flask, before picking it up awkwardly. It was probably the smallest thing they had in the house, and the opening was still about half the size of his head. He gave a shrug and tried to drink as best as he could without spilling. He had finally figured out a way to get it into his mouth without spilling all over everything when the heat hit. The liquid itself was sweet, if a bit flowery, with a hit of spice in it that he didn’t notice until it was in the back of his throat after he swallowed, but the more he drank, the more he wanted. He got even more careful, desperate not to spill a single drop of whatever was in the flask. It was amazing, it was better than cocaine, better than ecstasy, better than anything Anders had ever had before.

The heat was growing, spiraling through his limbs, settling in his muscles, setting his blood on fire, He didn’t even notice that his dick had gotten rock hard, he was too intent upon emptying the flask. 

All too soon though, the flask was empty, and Anders realized the state he was in. He was so hard it hurt, when he reached down with a tentative hand towards his cock, he hissed at even the slightest touch. Even so, he  _ wanted _ . Wanted more, wanted everything, anything.

That was when the door opened again. When Anders was naked and sweating, writhing on top of the blankets in desperate need of touch, but completely unable to satisfy himself. He turned to the door, but it wasn’t the giant of before. This was someone new - or, perhaps new. She looked familiar somehow, blonde hair and blue eyes.

“Hello again.” She said sweetly. She was still gaint, probably half again as tall as Anders, but she was nowhere near the towering beast of a man that Anders had met before.

Anders general policy when women said ‘Hello  _ again _ ’ was to pretend to remember them, but his mind was far from anything that he’d ever felt before. There was nothing left at all except his heartbeat and the throb of his erection. 

“Again?” He finally managed to ask.

“You don’t remember me? You needed my help on your last quest too.”

Then Anders remembered. “Magnhild. You became a giant again when everyone ascended.”

She nodded. “I was only ever half-giant though. It’s a bit sad. Everyone here is too big for me. Imagine how I felt when  _ you _ showed up again. We had a lot of fun last time, didn’t we?”

Anders pushed all thoughts of Mitchell out of his mind and he turned to her. “Ready for round two?”

Magnhild smiled and started stripping off her clothes.

  
  
  
  


It didn’t help. Nothing helped. Magnhild got off over and over and over again, enough that she would climb off him to rest for a while, or leave to get food, but nothing could cool the burning in Anders blood. How every time she came, she would tell him the next step of the journey he would need to make. Every time there would be some flare of magic, and the information was burnt into his mind. Anders knew he wouldn’t forget a single part of the map she was describing. 

He got off too, of course, but he felt like he’d overdosed on viagra. Shaking and in pain, all of his thoughts centered around the blood pounding through his groin, the way that Magnhild would climb on top of him. 

How for all the sex they were having, she never once seemed to  _ touch _ him, like he was some kind of living dildo that existed solely for her pleasure.

She had gone for food, and when she came back, she noticed that he was crying. “Is there something wrong, little man?” 

That was what she called him. She knew his name, he was sure of it, but that was what she called him. ‘Little Man’ like he was a title instead of a person. A thing to be used. Suddenly the tears dissolved into sobbing. Anders could feel the shame wash over him as his chest started to heave. He was gasping for breath as the tears started flowing down his face. He could feel his nose starting to run, and he covered his face. He  _ liked _ sex, he didn’t understand what was so different this time. He didn’t want it, he just wanted the map. He just wanted the apples and he just wanted to go  _ home. _

“I don’t-” It was hard to get words out through the force of his tears. “I just want the map.”

He didn’t see the confused look on Magnhild’s face. “Is that not what we were doing? This is the same deal as the last time. I would give you a piece of the map for every time you make me come.”

Anders dropped his hands and he stared at her in horror as he suddenly understood. Every time, every woman he’d ever… he liked sex, but so did most people. It felt good. Just because someone  _ liked _ sex didn't mean they wanted to have it. It didn’t mean they wanted to have it with  _ him _ . 

The burning of his blood was suddenly replaced with full body revulsion. Every woman he’d ever used as a tool instead of treated like a person… he rolled to the side of the bed and started throwing up. There was nothing in his stomach, he had no idea how long they’d been in the bed having their horrifying, unending marathon of sex. Bile burned up his throat. He couldn’t stop crying, shaking, puking. 

Somehow, Magnhild didn’t run away. Instead, for the first time, her hands touched his skin out of something other than necessity. A gentle warmth on his back, rubbing slow circles as he tried to catch his breath.

He didn’t know how long he spent heaving over the bed either, but when he was finally finished, Magnhild was still there, with a sorrowful look on her face.

“I would have told you, if you had only asked.”

Anders had thought that he had no tears left, but he started to cry again. “Just.” He said, “Just give me the map.”

Magnhild wiped the tears from his face, and told him. 


	4. Pack Your Bags for Outer Space

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anders continues his quest and has a great deal of time to reflect on the people in his life.
> 
> (This is a friendly chapter! I promise! It's like, a 3 after last chapter was like a 10.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Un-beta'd. If you catch anything, please let me know.

The map was seared in Anders mind after Magnhild had spoken it to him, in a way that he knew he couldn’t forget, for as long as he was in Asgard. She had left him alone after, for which he was immensely grateful. He felt like the past...days had been like something that had happened to someone else. He felt like if he looked in a mirror, he wouldn't’ see his own reflection. He felt like he’d shattered and somehow been put back together wrong.

Not that he’d ever been put together properly in the first place, but this was something else, something new, and he wasn’t sure he liked it. He had  _ cried _ . In front of a woman! Over sex, no less. He didn’t understand - or, perhaps, he did, for the first time understand, and he wasn’t entirely ready to fully face that truth yet.

He couldn’t hide from it though, not here in this place, literally naked in a bed, where he had been used for sex...because that was what everyone thought he wanted. He swallowed again as the bile rose in his throat. He knew it was only a taste of what he’d done to countless women over the years. After all - he’d been asked, and he’d said yes.

Sort of. Enough.

After all, he was Anders Johnson. When did he turn down sex? He shuddered again and put it to the back of his mind. He didn’t have time. He had no idea how long he’d been walking through the forest, and no idea how long he’d been… 

He needed information, and he needed to get started on his journey forward, now that he knew where to go.

He also needed clothes.

 

He ended up having to wrap a pillowcase around his waist, as he had no desire to be wandering around in a sheet five times his size. It took nearly all of his strength to push the door open, but then it was clear enough where everyone was. All he had to do was follow the low rumble of Giant voices. He held his head high, picking up the scraps of his pride. It didn’t matter what had happened in that room. It didn’t matter that Bragi was gone.

He’d done well enough on his own for most of his life. He’d gotten through everything that could be thrown at him. He would get through this too.

All he had to do was get to the orchard. Anything was worth it for a chance at a golden apple from Iðunns trees.

 

He didn’t make it to the room. Instead the giant blond man who had been his guide the entire time found him in the hallway.

“You are here.” He observed, but he sounded surprised. “Not with Magnhild?” 

Anders took a deep breath. “Magnhild and I came to an alternative arrangement.”

The giant adopted an expression that Anders couldn’t parse for the life of him, but then nodded and simply said “I see. You will be wanting to be on your way then.”

“If I could have my clothes back-”

“Ah yes. Unfortunately, your clothing had to be burned.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Nothing that makes it through the Forest of Isolation comes through untouched. Fear not, we shall give you what you need for your journey forward.”

Anders stared. What the fuck was the Forest of Isolation? He had all kinds of strange Asgardian knowledge that had been downloaded into his brain since he’d gotten here. Why had that not been a part of it? He shook his head, and followed the giant down the hallway.

  
  


The Giants were true to their word. Though they had kitted Anders out in furs and leather - which was a far cry from anything he had ever worn before - he also had a pack filled with food and water and a staff that he continually called a walking stick, and they continually called ‘protection from wolves’ which did  _ not _ make Anders feel any better.

With the map seared into his brain, and back in a shirt, Anders went off on his way. This time, he left out a different door, and when he looked back, he couldn’t see any sign of a forest ever having had existed. Instead, a vast plainsland stretched before him. He had nothing to do but start walking. 

He'd spent two days in the forest, two days with Magnhild. That left him ten days. He needed to walk across the plain in the three days, then he had three days to climb a mountain that had a name he could see in his mind, as if it were etched into a map, but it had no name. After that he had three days to sail across a lake. 

Somehow he knew that if he were to try to walk around the lake, he wouldn’t find Iðunn’s grove. There was one way to get to the golden apples. If he tried to cut any corners, he wouldn’t find it.

So walking it was. 

 

Walking

 

Walking

 

More walking.

  
  


Anders was about ready to kill something, but instead, he got to do

 

More

 

Walking.

  
  


Three days was a fucking  _ long _ time to goddamn walk.

  
  


Anders never thought he’d be so happy to stop walking over a flat surface and start walking  _ uphill _ , because at least it meant he was going in the right direction. It had taken him two days to cross the plains, and he was nearly crazy from the silence. He’d long since started talking to himself, humming tunelessly, making noise simply for the sound of it. When he’d run out of things to say to himself, half-remembered poems, the few songs he knew with lyrics… that was when he started talking to the people that he wished were there.

He started with Dawn. She would have made everythign on the quest so much easier, and she would have done it in her classy pump shoes. Dawn asked for directions and was definitely the type who would befriend someone first and have sex later. She was smart, so smart. So much more clever than Anders deserved, which he would only admit here, in this horrible walk, where he had nothing to do but be honest with himself. She had no reason to stay with him, but she had. For every time he had Bragi’d her into staying, there had been a time where she’d seen him at his worst and stayed anyway.  She would have everything set out, a plan for everything. She probably would have organized watches at night so he wouldn’t have been jumping at every sound, wondering about the wolves the Giants had warned about. 

But she also would have been kind. She  _ had _ seen Anders at his worst, and instead of telling him it was his own fault for digging holes, she would react with compassion - some of the time at least. When he deserved it, she was as likely as any to give him a slap in the face. She was the only one though, who seemed to truly understand when it wasn’t just ego. She was the one who seemed to feel when he was cracking and give him the space to patch himself up before he went back to facing the world.

Then his brothers: Mike was awful, would have been the worst companion, but  would have known exactly how to build a fire, even in the wind of the grassland. He would have smacked Anders for every complain about blisters or boredom, but he would have told stories as well. Things that Anders couldn’t remember. Those rare moments from when they were children, when everyone was happy and before everything had fallen apart. For all that he was a sanctimonious bastard, Mike did… usually… mean well. Anders did have to acknowledge his own part in why their relationship had fallen apart. Even if he was right in the end, he had gone about trying to prove it in the worst possible way.

He could feel it even more acutely when he thought of Magnhild.

He thought of walking with Ty, especially now that Ty was free of Höðr, and happily engaged to Dawn. Ty would have been wonderful to have with him, easily breaking the monotony with their shared sense of humour. Ty would have had stories of the most absurd customers he’d ever had with his refrigeration business, horror stories of weddings that had called for ice sculptures that had gone as wrong as possible. Ty who also wouldn’t know how to start a fire in the grass, but would at least be able to laugh about it.

Anders thought of Axl, who honestly, he barely knew anymore. He’d left when Axl had been so young, and then after only gotten to know him Bragi to Odin. He couldn’t imagine a better way to actually  _ get to know _ his youngest brother. Ask about Axl’s plans for life, now that he had a fresh start. Find out what he actually wanted to  _ do _ . Hopes, dreams, all that romantic bullshit. But Anders didn’t know any of it, not really. He’d been too busy, too focused on getting Axl laid to hear what anyone else was saying.

No wonder really, that everything had blown up in his face.

He thought of Helen, of how everything had been such a whirlwind of Bragi and Iðunn that he’d never truly gotten to know her either. How it had all felt like some sick high of Godhood. He knew bits and pieces about her, that she’d had a shit childhood, been an orphan. They hadn’t really talked much. It had been sex and gods. Anders wondered if he would have liked her if they met now. He wondered if she had gone to any heaven that she believed in. He wondered if she blamed him for the way that she died, undefended on his fucking kitchen floor. He thought of how he never even properly got to mourn for her, before being thrown into the mess of whatever the fuck it was that had happened with Gaia.

More sex and gods.

 

He shook his head. He was done with that. There were no more gods. He laughed when he realized there were no women either.

 

Instead there was Mitchell.

 

Anders walked more, and he thought of Mitchell. Of the stupid vampire, with his stupid hang-ups, and his stupid smile, and the way that he tried so fucking hard. The way that he could never quite pick up on the cues that Anders was leaving for him, but he was so earnest in the way that he tried. 

The way that Mitchell was so committed to somehow bringing the Johnsons back together, even now that there were no gods tying them together. 

The first time when Anders had come home to find his brothers and Olaf in his kitchen, where Mitchell had tried to plan a potluck, not understanding that no one would bring anything, because they were  _ Johnsons _ . That left them standing awkwardly around the largest caprese salad and some kind of mashed kumara something that Mitchell had tried to make, that had gotten burnt to shit.

Anders had wound up calling in for pizza, and they had wound up watching old Stooges movies that Mitchell had produced from somewhere.

It had been a shockingly good night, even with Olaf and Mitchell laughing before every gag.

 

It was the fourth day when Anders legs started to shake when he got up in the morning.

 

It was the fifth day when his arms hurt from the amount of pressure he was putting on leaning on the staff.

 

It was the sixth day when Anders reached the bottom of the mountain, and saw the lake. His first thoughts of relief were shattered when he saw that there was a boat on the side of the lake. A row-boat. It was probably about the size to fit two people, but made to be rowed by one.

It was then that Anders fell to his knees. He had walked plains, crossed a mountain. Now he would have to row across an entire lake by himself. He had been wishing for companionship for the endless hours of the past days, but looking forward, he wasn’t sure if he was physically capable of the task in front of him.

He would try.  He had to try. He wasn’t honestly sure he’d be able to get home if he _didn’t_ make it to the apple orchard.

None of that mattered anyway. It didn’t matter what would happen if he didn’t make it, because he would. At the end of the road was not just a pot of gold, but actual, literal  _ life _ . If he could just make it across this one stupid, fucking lake, then he would have  _ one thousand years _ . If he wanted nothing else in the entire world, he wanted that. If he had been granted a single wish that would have been it. He wanted more time, and it was there, across the lake. All he had to do was get there.

  
Anders stood up and walked to the rowboat.


	5. Waiting for the Right Kind of Pilot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anders learns his limits.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Un-beta'd so if you catch anything, please let me know! Constructive criticism always welcome! <3

 

Anders walked to the rowboat, slinging his pack off and into the center of the boat. He was exhausted in a way that he’d never known existed, bone-deep weariness that crept into every single cell of him. His muscles felt as though they could no longer support his weight. When he looked at his hands, they were shaking. 

None of it mattered. All that mattered was getting to Iðunn’s garden.

Which was across the godforsaken fucking hellscape of a goddamn fucking lake.

Not that Anders knew anything about boats, or had ever taken the time to fucking learn how to row one, but he figured it would be easy enough. The oars were fastened to the boat through little wooden hoop things they couldn’t slide out of, so Anders thought that he’d be fine. He couldn’t lose anything truly important. All he had to do was keep going. 

He knew he wouldn’t get lost, the same way he’d known for his entire journey. Apparently none of his challenges involved actually being able to  _ find _ the orchard. They all seemed to hinge on him getting there. Anders took a deep breath and got in the boat. He  _ would _ get there. 

Nothing was going to stop him.

 

He tried to push off using his stick, but the boat was only half in the water. Heaving a sigh, Anders got out of  the boat and pushed it farther into the water. The cold of it seeped quickly into his boots made of leather hide that were apparently very much not waterproof. Anders ignored the squishing of his feet in his sodden boots, focusing all of his attention on not letting go of the boat. If he lost the boat to the lake, he would lose everything. 

He slid the boat down the rocky beach until just the tip of it was still resting on the rocks before carefully climbing back in, trying his best not to get his trousers wet and failing miserably. He did, however, manage to climb in without tipping the boat or having anything fall out, so he counted it as a win. The boat rocked precariously, but Anders was determined. He used his walking stick to push off from the beach, then grabbed the oars and started rowing. 

He faced the beach that he had just set off from, but it didn’t matter. The compass that had been burning in him the entire trip was just as bright as ever. Anders set his jaw. He knew it would take three days to cross the lake, and it didn’t matter how much he hated it. It didn’t matter how often the oars didn’t catch the water properly and he wound up splashing all of his stuff, or getting himself properly soaked. It didn’t matter that he had to pause to find something to scoop the water out of the boat when there was so much in the bottom of it that it started to seep into his boots again.

It didn’t take long for Anders to decide that rowing was far worse than walking. He could feel the sun against his back, burning the skin on his neck. He figured his ears were probably burning to a crisp as well. His hands started to hurt, and then to blister. Anders kept rowing.

It was when the sun had set enough that it shone directly into his eyes that Anders started to feel the first stirrings of despair. His hands were slick, and he knew if he looked at them, they would come away from the oars bloody. He couldn’t see anything, between the setting sun and the reflection of it off the water.

He didn’t realize how much worse it would get when the sun set. Every part of him was wet. His burnt skin was freezing on the cold, moonlit lake. He could barely row for the shivers wracking his body. Teeth chattering so hard he was afraid he might bite his tongue off, he finally allowed himself to pause. He knew there was no hope of getting any sleep. Not unless he wanted to freeze to death. He Looked at his palms, flesh rubbed past raw.

Ander blinked back tears, reminded himself what was on the other side of the lake, and kept rowing.

 

It was the next day when Anders truly learned what desperation meant. He had enough fresh water to maybe last a day if he kept rowing. Every muscle he had was shaking with fatigue from the past days. First the walking, then the rowing, and Anders knew - with the same surety that he knew many things in this strange world of the gods - that there was no way he’d be able to make it across the lake in time. 

His lips were cracked and dry. Anders could taste the salty iron of blood on them. Everything seemed coated in blood. Blood and despair.

Anders laughed, with an edge of hysteria creeping in. ‘Blood and despair’. When did he become fucking John Mitchell? The thought stole the end of his humour though. He would give anything to have Mitchell with him.

Anything at all.

“I can’t do this alone.” he mumbled softly. He didn’t want to admit it; pride was the only thing that had gotten Anders through so much. It wasn’t something he could easily let go of. Pride was the tool that had got him through his life, not a coat he could take off and hang up. He had gotten kicked out of his house, pushed away from his family, and he had made something of himself anyway. He’d never been considered a good example, or even a ‘proper man’ by Mikkel, and it had been pride that pushed Anders forward. Pride and spite.

Spite had died in the forest. All he had left now was pride, and he could feel it slipping through the shredded skin of his hands.

“I wish he were here.” Anders’ voice was no more than a whisper. He was shaking violently, but he put his hands back on the oars. Closing his hands hurt, the bloody, raw skin of his palms protesting. It didn’t matter though. Ander reminded himself of the goal, there were apples on the other side of the lake. He couldn’t stop trying. No matter how much he wanted to. No matter how much he wished he had someone - anyone - there to help. No matter how much he wished  _ Mitchell _ was there to help.

Mitchell wasn’t there, and Anders was on his own like always. He’d made it this far by himself. He’d always been alone. There was no reason for this to be any different.

 

Even if he wanted it to be.

 

Every moment brought more pain, felt more impossible than the last. Every stroke seemed to get him nowhere in the endless lake. More and more, Anders thoughts strayed to Mitchell. Mitchell who never had to sleep, who had the easy, supernatural strength that came with being a vampire. How much easier it all would be if Mitchell was simply there, in the boat with him. Mitchell who could barely feel the cold.

Anders could feel that his every movement growing less and less effective. At some point, it didn’t matter how much he wanted; his body simply didn’t have anything left to give.

 

It was when he could no longer see a shore that Anders realized: he couldn’t do it.

 

It wasn’t a matter of will or pride or belief. It was sheer ability, and Anders didn’t have the strength left. “If Mitchell were here.” He said softly, half- delirious from pain and self-inflicted dehydration, trying to ration his water. “I could do this if he were here.” Anders paused. That wasn’t true. Mitchell’s presence wouldn’t make a difference to his current state. Mitchell being there wouldn’t make Anders physically stronger. “Mitchell could help.” He clarified, because Anders had nothing left to give. “Fuck, I wish Mitchell were here.”

 

There was a crack in the sky like the world was breaking, and Anders didn’t care. The world could fold in on itself, and none of it would matter. Anders was going to die alone on a lake in the middle of Asgard. In his desperate attempts for life, Anders had instead secured himself his greatest fear come true.

He didn’t notice the sudden weight in the boat, or the shadow across his back.

He did notice when a familiar Irish voice shouted, and arms wrapped tightly around him.

“Fuck, Anders, where have you been? I’ve been looking everywhere for you!”

Anders blinked, at first not believing. Then, awareness entered him, like it had at every point of his quest.

He had been allowed help at any point, but he had been required to specifically ask for it. Apparently his pleas for Mitchell’s companionship had been close enough. As strong as Anders could be by himself, he could be stronger if he allowed himself to seek support from others.

 

Mitchell had been babbling the whole time, and Anders turned to face him as much as he could without tipping the boat. 

Mitchell’s eyes were wide and worried. He reached out and took one of Anders’ hands. “What the hell did you do?”

Anders smiled, a bit manic. “Mitchell, I need your help.” He nodded to himself. Yes, that was what needed to be said. “We need to get to that shore.” He pointed behind Mitchell’s back.

“Okay.” Mitchell said slowly, “Why?”

Anders grinned. “Do you trust me?”

“Where are we?” Mitchell asked, looking around the vast emptiness of the lake surrounding them.

“Asgard.” Anders replied simply.

Mitchell swallowed hard trying not to think of what it meant for a vampire to be in the land of the Gods. He looked at Anders, shaky, weak and somehow euphoric. He didn't know what was going on, but it didn't matter. He nodded slowly. “I trust you.”

Anders grinned. “I’ll tell you on the way there. Now. Can you row?”

“Fuckin’ had to row across the channel once.” Mitchell grumped with a frown, but reaching for the oars none the less.

Anders grinned, brilliantly, his lips cracked and bloody. For the first time since seeing the boat, Anders had  _ hope _ . More than that, though, he had that same, seeping, sinking certainty: with Mitchell, they would be able to cross the lake leaving more than enough time to get to Iðunn’s orchard.

Together, they would make it.

  
  



	6. If You'll Be My Baby

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And they all lived Happily Ever After...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Un-beta'd so if you catch anything, please let me know!

  
  


Mitchell rowed tirelessly, but also with an unending stream of questions. “How did you get here again?” 

“Bragi found me doing poetry.”

“Don’t you hate poetry?”

Anders glared, glad they had worked out the seating so they were facing each other. His glares were impressive and it would have been a shame to waste it on the water. “I have my moments.” He said, voice filled with flat sarcasm.

“So you were at a poetry thing and Bragi showed up and kidnapped you.”

“I would hardly say kidnapped-”

“Anders, I have been searching for you for nearly a month.” The pain and worry that filled Mitchell’s voice was unmistakeable, and Anders had to look away.

“I didn’t exactly have much of a choice.”

Mitchell huffed. “Gods don’t seem to be too keen on giving choices, do they.”

“Hey!” Anders started, but then stopped, because, well...Mitchell did have a point. “I could probably have said no.” he said, “But I don’t want to. I  _ want _ to finish this.”

“And you just  _ know _ we’re going the right way?”

“Yes.”

Mitchell laughed and kept rowing. “Okay then.”

 

The sun was setting, an Mitchell had worn out his questions. Anders had worn out his answers. Mitchell rowed endlessly, evenly, as if weariness never touched him. He’d even picked up speed when Anders had mentioned the golden apples waiting, the fear of missing the deadline set. The whole time they moved at a smooth, steady glide across the water. 

“When we’re back I’m getting you a job.” Anders said.

“What?”

“We’re moving to Venice or some shit and you can do this professionally.”

Mitchell laughed, and it echoed over the water. 

Anders grinned back, and something a little bit painful settled in his chest when he thought maybe he’d like to listen to Mitchell laugh for a very long time. “I don’t think you really rowed across the channel.” Anders said, to distract himself from the emotions he didn’t want to acknowledge as much as anything else.

“Oi! Of course I did! I was young, I’d only been a vampire for  a few years, must’ve been thirty or so…”

Anders grinned and leaned back a bit in the boat, content to watch Mitchell move, and listen to the extremely exaggerated tales that Mitchell was spinning.

  
  


In the early grey that came from the moments before the sun actually rose, Anders finally found the thing he’d been hoping to see for the past two days. “It’s there!”

Mitchell raised an eyebrow but didn’t stop rowing. “It’s behind me! Fantastic! What is it?”

“Land, you fuckwad.”

“Land-Ho!” Mitchell called out.

“That is  _ not _ what I said.”

“But you wanted to.”

“I did not, and that is why I  _ didn’t _ .”

“Lies.” Mitchell asserted with a grin. “You do want to, you just thought you’d look childish.”

Anders stuck out his tongue and glared. Then he opened his mouth and screamed, as loud as he could “LAAAND HOOO!” which left Mitchell wincing from the volume. “Told you I  _ could _ .” Anders said primly, “I was just choosing to refrain.”

“Noted.” Mitchell said with a grin.

 

They hit land before the sun had reached the heat of mid-day. It was nothing for Mitchell to hop out and pull the boat in, saving Anders ruined hands as much as possible. Mitchell took the pack and the walking stick, then stood on the beach, looking at Anders with no small amount of expectation. 

“Which way, oh fearless leader?”

“I hate you so much.” Anders mumbled, but he pointed anyway, and took the lead as they started the final part of the quest: the walk to Iðunn’s garden.

 

They had barely been walking for a few hours, when Anders held up a hand. “We’re here.” He took a left, and began walking through trees, pulled on by the internal compass he’d had ever since entering the lands of the gods. There were apple trees all around, but Anders knew better than to take one off the trees. He had been offered a gift. He was hardly about to ruin his chance at  _ life _ because he couldn’t wait long enough to reach the center of a fucking apple orchard.

It was painfully obvious when they’d reached their destination. The entire clearing was glowing with warm, golden light, as if it was perpetually late afternoon, where the sharp heat of the day had retreated, leaving sun-baked warmth in it’s wake. The grass sprang back when Anders took a step, as if he’d never been there at all. There were huge baskets filled with truly golden apples, like nothing that Anders had ever seen before.

 

“Welcome to my grove, Anders, son of Johan.”  Iðunn said, and her voice sounded like the crunch of fresh apples, and the creak of old trees. Sweet and earthy, yet light as a zephyr, but golden throughout. “It is good to see you again.”

Anders nodded, not really sure what to say, as the first time they’d seen each other, it had ended poorly, and the second time they’d seen each other it had ended...possibly even more poorly.

“I see you have brought a companion.” Bragi said, entering the grove. “Well done. Few learn that lesson on this quest.”

Anders frowned at that, but refrained from asking just how many people went on said quest. 

“You have earned your reward.” Bragi continued, “Two apples that will bring one thousand years of life.”

Iðunn plucked two apples from the nearest basket then walked them over to where Anders and Mitchell stood. She held one out in each hand, smiling.

Anders grabbed them both, let the feeling of victory bubble up in his chest. He turned to Mitchell. “What do you say? Two thousand years isn’t anything to sneeze at, eh? We could make a proper go of it.”

Mitchell, who looked unnerved by every single part of their surroundings, frowned at Anders’ words. “Two thousand years is a very long time Anders.”

“That’s the point?”

Mitchell stared at Anders for a long moment before finally speaking again. “I won’t hold you to that, if you want to leave. Two thousand years…”

And that was when Anders realized: Mitchell was trying to give him a way out. Mitchell, who understood that Anders had never truly been tied down before, that he’d never done monogamy in any way that hadn’t been influenced by gods, and even then, it hadn’t really sat well. Mitchell was trying to say that Anders was free to live the way he always had, regardless of how long he would live on the earth.

That was also when Anders realized the difference between Mitchell and everyone he’d ever met before. Mitchell didn’t expect perfection. Mitchell wasn’t asking him to be anyone other than who he was, even if that didn’t include monogamous fidelity. Anders grinned brilliantly, then walked over, so he could kiss Mitchell deeply. 

Mitchell went with it, burying his hands in Anders hair, and opening his mouth, drinking in Anders desperately, almost as if he was sure it would be the last time. Anders was panting by the time Mitchell let him go.

That was when the other thing clicked for Anders. Mitchell was afraid. It wasn’t about Anders not being able to maintain a relationship; it was also about Mitchell being afraid he couldn’t stay clean. Two thousand years was a long time.

 

But Anders didn’t have two thousand years.

He had two apples, that each gave one thousand years of  _ life _ .

 

Anders stepped away from Mitchell and turned to face Bragi. “Does this do what I think it will?”

“It must be his choice.” Bragi said, “He must understand what is being asked.”

“It’ll hurt, won’t it.” Anders said.

“Most likely the most painful thing anyone can endure.” Bragi said seriously. “Possibly more than anyone can endure.”

“What are we talking about now?” Mitchell asked, moving forward, and putting a protective hand on Anders shoulder. “I think he’s well done enough, hasn’t he?”

Iðunn laughed, and it was the sound of flowers blooming. “We do not speak of Anders now, but of you, John Mitchell.”

Mitchell stared, completely incomprehending.

Anders turned, and held out one of the apples. “It’ll hurt. A lot.”

“What? Anders -”

“It’s one thousand years of  _ life _ , Mitchell.”

Mitchell’s eyes widened in sudden understanding. He swallowed hard. “I won’t be a vampire anymore?”

“You will be gifted back the life that was taken from you.” Bragi said. “You will be returned home with Anders, but with the heartbeat that was stolen from you.”

Mitchell let out a slow breath, trying to blink the tears from his eyes and failing. “You would… You would do that for me?”

“One thousand years  _ with _ you is far better than two thousand of you trying to push me away.” Anders said.

Mitchell closed his eyes and looked away, knowing that what Anders said was true. “I don’t want to take-”

Anders cut him off. “I’m giving. You’re not taking anything.”

Mitchell looked back up at Anders, and stared at him for a long while, as if trying to read his mind by looking into his eyes. Finally, he nodded. “It’s everything I’ve ever wanted, ever since it happened.”

Anders stepped forward and kissed him softly. “I know.” Anders held up an apple again, and this time, Mitchell took it.

It was, by far, the most painful thing that Mitchell had ever experienced, but when he first drew breath because he  _ needed _ it, he couldn’t stop the tears of joy from streaming down his face.

They both finished their apples, and were sent back into the world, one thousand years of  _ life _ before them.

 

 

  
******

 

  
“Should we tell them that selflessness earned them both another apple?” Iðunn asked with  a smile.

Bragi just grinned, “I think perhaps that surprise will be better appreciated in a thousand years.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> I've come say hi (or leave a prompt!) [ on tumbr](http://taupefox59.tumblr.com/) too!


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